As president and CEO of San Diego Rescue Mission, Herb Johnson leads an organization that annually provides food, shelter, counseling, job training and — this being an emphatically Christian outfit — prayer to thousands of homeless people. None of this is surprising, as this has been the Mission’s mission since its founding in 1955.

But the 67-year-old Johnson may not be what you’d expect. After earning an MBA at Harvard, he spent almost 30 years developing supply chains for corporations, including the CVS pharmacy chain. Working with multi-billion-dollar budgets, he was paid more than $1 million a year.

How did this “have” become a champion of the have-nots? Johnson explained that years of volunteer work with the Mission led to his being offered the top spot in 2006. He now oversees residential programs for homeless men, women and children; runs three thrift stores; and supports numerous food pantries. His annual salary is a healthy six figures, $150,000, but a far cry from the seven-figure compensation packages he commanded a decade ago.

But who’s crying? Twelve years in San Diego County, while failing to erase Johnson’s rich Baah-ston accent, have given new purpose to this Massachusetts native. In 2000, the divorced father of two grown children married Carol Brown in the backyard of their then-residence in Solana Beach. They now live in Kensington, a short commute from the Mission’s headquarters in Bankers Hill.

“I’m as happy as I’ve ever been in my life,” he said.

When did you first become aware of homeless people?

It’s no accident I’m in this job. My mother worked for the school department in Cambridge, Mass. My dad died when I was 14 years old. We were poor — I didn’t know we were poor and my father was a mechanic so we always had a car, but we rented for years without ever owning a home.

My mother was famous for having a wicker basket in the back the car. When we went to the grocery stores — not one of those huge mega-stores you have today — you’d go in and buy a load of bread, a quart of milk, Rice Krispies. She would come out with three bags of canned goods and day-old bread. “This is for the shelter.”

She was forever shopping in stores where there was stuff on sale, either that or in thrift shops.

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She would buy clothing she never planned to wear herself. That would go in the basket.

On Saturdays, we would make the rounds to the women’s shelters. My brother and I were 7, 8, 9 years old, bored to death, sitting in the back of the car. She’d finally say, “It’s OK for you to come inside, a lot of these ladies would like to talk to you. “ We’d roll our eyes. My mother never backed the car up and just dropped the stuff off. Wherever we went, it was always at least an hour visit.